


Symptomatic

by frankievera02



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Accidental overdose, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Depression, Dissociation, Friendship, Gen, Han Jisung | Han-centric, Insomnia, Medication, Mental Health Issues, Minor Character Death, Panic Attacks, Suicidal Thoughts, basically i'm just venting lol, but there's an actual plot and a happy ending, don't read this if you are easily triggered by these things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:26:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24900790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frankievera02/pseuds/frankievera02
Summary: For the past few months, Jisung has been dealing with “symptoms”. Nothing to worry about, of course—or at least he thought.When a tragedy causes his life to shift, the symptoms start to worsen until they become terrifying and unbearable. The only problem is that he has no idea what’s causing them or how to make them stop.
Relationships: Bang Chan & Han Jisung | Han, Han Jisung | Han & Everyone, Han Jisung | Han & Hwang Hyunjin, Han Jisung | Han & Kim Seungmin, Han Jisung | Han & Lee Felix, Han Jisung | Han & Lee Minho | Lee Know, Han Jisung | Han & Seo Changbin, Han Jisung | Han & Yang Jeongin | I.N
Comments: 28
Kudos: 296





	1. "Maze of Memories"

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING for:  
> \- Anxiety!!!! (seriously there is so much anxiety in this)  
> \- Depression  
> \- Suicidal Ideation  
> \- Dissociation (derealization mainly)  
> \- Misuse of medication  
> \- Vomit 
> 
> This is completely fictional, and in no way am I theorizing about any of the characters' lives or mental health. The majority is based off of my own experiences. I find that it often helps to know that you're not alone when you are going through tough times, especially if you feel hopeless or trapped, which is the reason why I am posting this. If you are struggling with any of the issues listed above, please talk to someone because there is ALWAYS a way out! Don't give up! <3 
> 
> Have a great day and I hope you enjoy! :-)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UPDATE: I added a slight change to this chapter as a result of the news coming out about a certain ex-member. It was only a couple sentences that I changed, but I didn't want to say his name or portray him in a positive light in any way (even if it's just hinted at).

“Jisung, I usually don’t bring up weight when giving physicals because it fluctuates all the time, but I have noticed that you seemed to have lost a significant amount of weight since your last visit.” 

Jisung looked up from his swinging feet that hung off of the examination table at the doctor, who was looking intently down at her notebook, pen in hand. She lifted her head so that the two of them were making eye contact. The young adult just looked at her, unsure of what to say. He had not been expecting that kind of information. 

“I haven’t lost _that_ much weight.” Jisung mumbled out, furrowing his brows, unaware of the tension that had built up in his shoulders. 

“Last year, you weighed fifty-six kilograms, and now you weigh forty-eight kilograms. That’s well below a healthy weight for you. I know you’ve always been on the slim side, but it isn’t good to get below at least fifty-five kilograms, ideally more than that.” 

Jisung just looked at her before saying, quietly, “I’ve been eating a lot, though. I don’t know how that happened.” 

He was telling the truth. Jisung remembered the past few months, feeling almost insatiable and eating all the time. The other members had laughed at him, asking if he was getting ready for hibernation, but he had genuinely felt so hungry. It reached the point that some of his bandmates had whined over the topic, asking him how he was able to eat so much chocolate without gaining any weight. He had only shrugged it off, pinning it on his fast metabolism. 

“I’m being honest.” he stressed when catching a glimpse of the doctor’s skeptical expression. “I’ve been eating, like, a million calories every single day. I’m just always hungry.” 

“Alright, Jisung. I assume you’ve had a hectic schedule that causes you to burn more calories than you can replace. Make sure to think about your health before your work, though, if you can. When you put so much stress on your body, it can lead to burnout.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Everything else seemed pretty normal. His blood pressure was good, his heart-rate was a little high, but that was blamed on the anxiety disorder he had been diagnosed with several years before. No lumps, no signs of illness. Everything was perfectly normal aside from his weight, and Jisung had no idea how it happened. 

Perhaps he should have brought up the other strange symptoms he had been experiencing. The shakiness in his hands and the sweatiness. The heart palpitations, and how easy it had become for him to lose his breath, despite his physical fitness. He shrugged it off, assuming he was overthinking it. He felt fine, so it was probably just stress. No big deal. 

It was their day off, aside from the doctor’s visit, so they all returned to the dorm. Jisung was feeling exhausted, as usual, and he flopped down on the couch to do nothing, paying no attention to what the other members were doing. He was scrolling through social media and watching a YouTube video here and there when Chan spoke. 

“Compared to a few months ago, I think everyone’s doing a lot better.” said the leader. Jisung dropped his phone on his chest and peered up at the scene surrounding him. Everyone was in the living room. 

“I agree.” Changbin said, nonchalantly. “Especially Jisungie.” 

“Well,” Jisung began, using his voice for the first time in over an hour. “It definitely helps that we don’t have to scramble to re-record all of our songs right now. At least we have a routine.” 

“But even four or five months ago, you would get so anxious over the smallest things, but now it seems like you’re feeling better.” said Minho. 

“And Chan-hyung isn’t scolding Felix as much anymore.” Hyunjin added. 

“It’s no big deal, Hyunjin.” Felix said, quietly. “I kind of deserved it. I shouldn’t have been so upset about…you know, what happened.” 

“No, you didn’t.” Chan interjected. “I was just stressed out and I took it out on people who didn’t deserve it. You should never feel like a burden because of your emotions. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s still kinda weird now. It still hurts after everything that happened... I don't know...” Seungmin said before looking up at the pained expressions of his teammates—especially Chan—and quickly saying, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring that up.” 

“It’s okay, Seungminnie.” said Chan, his tone lifting itself toward something positive. “Let’s just work really hard and do our best. But no pushing it. We don’t need anyone getting injured.” 

“Maybe you should tell yourself that, hyung.” commented Minho. Chan didn’t say anything because he wasn’t going to lie. 

To be completely honest, Jisung found it difficult to scroll through twitter after their oldest member departed. All he saw were photos of him and people expressing how much they missed him. People still using the hashtag “nine or none” when they knew that Stray Kids was trying their hardest to achieve a fresh start as a group of eight. It made him feel sad and sick, and it made him wish the events of the past had never happened. That was why Jisung stuck to YouTube—everything that could distract him from the harsh reality and give him some sort of relief. 

Before any of them knew it, it was evening and a movie was playing on the television. None of them could make plans to hang out with any of their other friends because of conflicting schedules, but at least they still had time to relax. Jisung, unlike Chan or Hyunjin, did not have a plethora of outside friends. He often found it difficult to speak to people he wasn’t well acquainted with. It was even nerve wracking when he met his extended family after a long time. 

“Didn’t you watch this movie, like, a week ago?” Jisung asked Chan, glancing at the screen. It was  _ Guardians of the Galaxy _ , of course. Chan only watched with wide, happy eyes. 

“Yes, what are you saying?” the older responded. 

“You’re obsessed.” 

“You’re obsessed with your phone. So I guess we’re even.” 

Jisung sighed and set his phone back down on his chest. He was exhausted. As a matter of fact, he was exhausted most of the time—especially recently. He let his eyes close without a care in the world, allowing sleep to take over his mind. 

That is, until— 

_ Ring, ring, ring…  _

Jisung jumped almost a foot in the air when his phone went off. It had only been around an hour and everyone else was still wide awake—even Jeongin. He picked up the rectangular block of technology and observed the caller ID. It was his dad. His dad never called him, so he assumed it must have been important. 

“Hello? Dad?” Jisung said, groggily, yawning. He kept his eyes most of the way closed as he listened for his dad’s voice. The young idol expected it to be another one of those calls that his mother guilt tripped the man into making. Jisung had never been the closest with his father, but his relationship with his mother made up for it. 

_ “Jisung, I have some news.” _ The middle-aged man’s voice was deep and stern. There was almost no emotion to it, as though he were only a robot. It seemed so out of place that Jisung opened his eyes entirely and even sat up on the couch, allowing his messy hair to stick up around his head. 

“What kind of news?” Jisung was already nervous. He could feel his heart pound in his chest and his hands begin to shake. 

_ “Your mother died.”  _

Jisung almost dropped his phone. He almost flung himself off the couch. He almost screamed. 

“What?” he said in a near shout, causing all of the other members to turn their heads sharply in his direction, looks of surprise and concern on their faces. 

_ “Your mother’s dead.” _ Why was he so monotone? 

“Is this a joke?” 

_ “It’s not a joke. She was walking up the stairs to our apartment when she tripped and fell. Nobody found her until she was already gone.”  _

“That’s not true.” 

_ “Han Jisung, I’m telling you the truth. Why would I lie to you? Do you take me as a liar?”  _

“Dad…” 

_ “The funeral is next Saturday, and it will be held in Incheon. I expect you to be there.” _

“But, Dad…” 

His father hung up, and Jisung let the cell phone slide out of his hand, bouncing off of his knee and landing pathetically on the floor. He stared at the wall without seeing it. He didn’t know what to think or what to feel. He didn’t know what was real. He could hear his heart so clearly and it hurt. He just couldn’t wrap his head around his father’s words. 

“Jisungie…” Minho said, gently. “What happened?” 

Jisung snapped out of whatever trance he had been sucked into and observed his friends. They all had their attention entirely on him. There was no getting out of this. He would have to tell them. 

“My mom died.” he said, so quietly that it was almost a whisper. 

There was a good thirty or so seconds of pure silence. Nobody knew what to say. They all just looked at him, and Jisung barely noticed. He fell back into the trance, not thinking. Feeling both numbness and excruciating pain at the same time. He didn’t move, didn’t blink. He barely even breathed. 

“I’m so sorry…” Felix said, pulling Jisung into a hug that he struggled to return. He didn’t cry. Even when he pulled away from Felix’s embrace to see tears shining on the Australian’s freckled cheeks, he didn’t come close to crying. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Chan asked, his voice accepting, almost like Jisung’s mother’s voice had once been. 

“I’m going to bed.” was all the nineteen-year-old said in response. He struggled to lift himself into a standing position, only for his knees to give out. Luckily, Minho and Felix were there to catch him before he fell. 

“Here, I’ll help you.” Minho said, draping the younger boy’s arm over his shoulders and helping him walk out of the living room and into his bedroom. 

And so Jisung lied there for a long time, staring at nothing. Feeling nothing but pressure and tightness in his chest. No tears. No sadness. Just pain. Physical pain. 

The only thing Jisung could really remember about the night was the fact that the palpitations had turned into something else. Something stronger. 

And it was  _ scary _ . 

* * * * *

The rest of the week felt like hell. Nothing had really changed. Jisung’s lifestyle hadn’t changed. The only role his mother had played in his life for the past couple years was the phone calls and goody baskets and moral support. He hadn’t seen her for over a month. He was still wondering if his father had been telling the truth. 

As he was dancing, as he was walking to the company building, as he was writing lyrics and recording songs, he had the same thoughts in mind. 

_ She’s dead.  _

He couldn’t prove it, but she was dead. He hadn’t seen the body, but she was dead. He hadn’t said goodbye, but she was dead. It almost didn’t seem real. There was no proof, so it couldn’t be real. But it was. That was the issue. It couldn’t have happened, but it somehow, out of a strange, terrible twist of fate, did. 

“I’m not trying to push you, Jisungie, especially since you haven’t even been to the funeral yet, but it’s not healthy to keep everything you feel inside.” 

They were in the studio. Jisung was flopped on the couch, staring at the ceiling and feeling the heart palpitations multiply in his chest. Chan was sitting in his chair, turned toward him, trying to look him in the eyes. He looked back at one point and saw those same eyes—Chan’s eyes. Dark, firm, yet gentle. Caring, yet strong. The eyes that had been through good and bad, that had toughened up and learned how to make it. The eyes that Jisung looked up to and depended on. 

“I’m not in the mood.” Jisung grunted in response, closing his eyes. The heart palpitations wouldn’t stop. They grew louder and louder until they were all he could hear and it made him want to claw into his chest and rip them out. Force his heart to start working again. It made him feel nervous and dizzy and strange. It made him feel numb, as though he were floating. 

“Stop it…” he whispered to his heart that night as he lay awake. His hands started to shake. “Stop it…” 

But it wouldn’t stop. None of it would stop. They would keep going until he fell into a fitful sleep and start again when he opened his eyes the next morning. 

He almost couldn’t believe it when his driver dropped him off at his parents’ apartment in Incheon and he stepped into the building. When he rang the doorbell, he almost expected his mother to answer, the smell of food wafting through the air from behind her and an enormous smile on her face. She would have hugged him and fed him more food than he probably would be able to stomach. But when the door opened, she wasn’t there. No food. No yellow light seeping from the lamps that decorated the living room. No warmth. It was cold and it was dark. And the person standing before him was his brother. 

“Hyung…” Jisung said, awkwardly. It had been almost three years since he’d last seen his brother in person. Jihu was taller than him still, and he was more muscular. 

“Come on in, Jisung.” was all Jihu said in response, stepping out of the way as the younger boy slipped his shoes off and entered the dismal-looking apartment. There were boxes everywhere, and Jisung couldn’t see a trace of his mother’s possessions. 

“What happened here?” He hated to admit that he felt shy around his brother. They had never been the closest, especially since Jihu was so much older. 

“Dad’s been trying to forget about her. I don’t think it’s working, but he’s trying.” 

“We haven’t even had the funeral yet. Why would he want to forget about her?” 

Jihu only shook his head and closed the door behind his younger brother. Jisung was brought back to the old days, before his family had even moved to Malaysia, following his hyung around as he played with his friends outside. The age difference was five years, and Jihu viewed his younger brother as some sort of annoying puppy, trying to get his attention. Jisung had wanted nothing more than to be “big enough” to play with his big brother. Not until he had grown “big enough” did he realize that he didn’t really want to anymore. 

The evening was pretty gloomy, Jisung sitting on the couch, staring at his phone without doing anything. Even though he had told Chan, Changbin, Minho, Felix, and everyone else who had offered to accompany him to the funeral that he needed to go alone, he still wished they weren’t so busy. Maybe then they would be able to text him. Maybe then he wouldn’t feel so distant from the rest of the world. 

The next day, Jisung stood in the rain, not bothering to cover himself with an umbrella, as the casket was carried through the crowd of friends and relatives toward the long, black van. His brother was crying. So many people were crying. But Jisung couldn’t cry—not around them. He looked toward his father, noticing the cold, stony expression on his face, and how intent his eyes were on the casket. 

“Aren’t you sad about it, Dad?” Jisung asked as they were leaving. His father didn’t even look at him. He didn’t say a single word. 

“Don’t worry about him.” Jihu quickly said, as though terrified of what would become of the situation if he weren’t to jump in quickly and diffuse it. 

“He talks to you. Why doesn’t he talk to me? He hung up on me when he was telling me Mom died. Does he hate me?” 

“No, it’s just complicated.” 

“Explain it to me, then, hyung.” 

“I can’t. I’m sorry.” 

That night, Jisung cried. It was late—his brother was asleep and it was well past midnight. He was lying in the bed he had slept in when he was still living with his parents, allowing the tears to fall freely because nobody was looking. He figured he needed to let all of the confusion out somehow. The memories began to flood through his brain for the first time since he heard the news. He actually started to grasp the tragedy of the event, rather than lingering around in shock. 

He remembered being a small child, walking home from school and running into the open arms of his mother, who knelt by the door and exclaimed,  _ “Jisung-ah!” _ in the most loving voice he had heard. He remembered the days when he had been sick, lying in bed as she took his temperature and served him tea. He remembered the lonely first few weeks in Malaysia, barely able to speak English, struggling to make friends—how his mother had reassured him and comforted him and made him feel special again. 

Where was she now? He didn’t know. 

All he knew was that he would never see her again. 

Sleeping was a struggle, but after crying so hard, it came more quickly. Despite the palpitations that pushed at his chest and the faint dizziness that floated in his head, his eyes shut and he was pulled into unconsciousness. Maybe it would get better after sleeping. 

He was wrong. 

Jisung opened his eyes the next morning and checked the time. It was four-thirty. It was still dark outside and his brother and father were still asleep. He wondered why he was awake for a few seconds, until something terrifyingly unfamiliar washed over his body. His head spun, his body shook, his stomach twisted and turned, and his throat started to gag against his will. 

He stood up, barely capable of keeping his balance, and tripped into the bathroom, retching over the toilet until bile came out of his mouth. His heart was pounding so quickly and so intensely that he felt as though he were about to have a heart attack. Chills ran up and down his body—chills so strong that they felt more like sparks of pain that grew stronger when meeting his heart and made his vision swim. He wasn’t standing, but he was having a headrush. His fingers were numb. He could feel his heartbeat slam against his spine, sending pain throughout his back. It made his neck weak and his head heavy. He was shivering and sweating at the same time—sweating buckets, his clothing, hair, and face soaked. 

Jisung leaned back against the wall of the bathroom, flushing the toilet and looking forward. What was wrong with him? Was he really sick? Was he going to die? Spots clouded his vision and his neck shook below his head. His teeth chattered. Sparks of painful adrenaline zapped his torso, all the way up to his jaw. His mouth tasted bitter from the vomit. 

The nineteen-year-old struggled to pull himself to his feet, using the toilet seat for support, and was able to walk as long as he kept a hand on the wall beside him. He stepped into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water that he could barely hold in his trembling hands without spilling. The second the water touched his throat, he gagged again, spitting it out into the sink, so he only sat the glass down on the counter and slid down into a sitting position, wishing the world would go back to normal. 

By breakfast, he was able to walk without tripping, and no longer felt the need to throw up. He had sat down at the table with his father and brother, ignoring the fact that he was still covered in cold sweat, trying his best to keep a grip on his chopsticks. His hand wouldn’t stop shaking, and the more tension he put into his grip, the more easily the sticks would slip out of his fingers and clatter against the table. 

“If you can’t even hold your chopsticks correctly, you might as well just leave.” snapped his father. Jisung looked up, noticing the man’s harsh glare, and then turned his head so that he was looking at Jihu. His brother only shot him a brief look of apology. 

So Jisung packed up his things to the best of his ability and left early, unshowered, still feeling dizzy and shaky. His driver picked him up and dropped him back off at the dorm. 

“How’d it go?” Seungmin asked when Jisung stepped through the door. 

Jisung only shook his head and wobbled into the bathroom to shower. 


	2. "Phobia"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for panic attacks, nausea (no actual vomit), feeling out of control/helpless.

“Jisungie, if you need to take a hiatus, JYP will surely understand.” 

Chan was crouched in front of the rapper, who was leaning against the wall, guzzling his water bottle. Jisung was sweating buckets, and he felt so hot, despite the fact that he was only wearing a thin t-shirt and shorts. All of the other members seemed generally fine with the temperature in their sweats. He didn’t understand. Chan had begun to notice a problem in Jisung’s practice when the boy’s dance movies grew sloppier as the session progressed and he bent over, struggling to breathe when the song had finished. 

“I’m fine, hyung.” Jisung responded, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his wrist. He could feel the beads of salty liquid drip into his eyes, causing them to burn. He felt disgusting and he just wanted to go back to the dorm and shower, but he knew that he would need to keep practicing if he wanted to perform well. “Just a little tired.” 

“Innie said you’ve been waking up at four every morning. You already stay up so late in the studio with us. You definitely aren’t getting enough sleep.” 

“I can’t help it, hyung. My body just wakes up at four now and there’s not much I can do about it.” 

Jisung made sure to leave out the part when he gagged over the toilet for a half hour and spent the entire next hour feeling dizzy and nauseous, knowing that Chan would only push for his hiatus. The last thing Jisung needed at the moment was a hiatus—what he needed now was a distraction, and work did a fairly good job at holding his attention. 

“How about we give you some time off in the studio so you can catch up on sleep? Does that sound fair?” 

Jisung sighed, saying, “No, that wouldn’t be fair to you and Changbin-hyung. And, also, I want to work in the studio. I like writing and producing.” 

“I understand that, but sometimes you just need to put your health first.” 

“Hyung, the only thing keeping me from going insane right now is the fact that I have a routine. Please don’t take that away from me. I’ll be okay. I just need some time to process things.” 

As much as Jisung wanted to cry to their leader about his symptoms, he knew that Chan was far too friendly with their boss to simply pat him on the back and continue with their normal schedule. Chan was far too caring—he thought much more about the health of the other members than he did about himself. 

“You should sleep more, too, hyung.” Jisung added, trying to change the direction of the conversation before Chan started trying to text JYP about Jisung’s issue. 

“You have a point there, Jisungie.” Chan chuckled. “But I didn't just experience a family tragedy, and I don’t have an anxiety disorder.” 

“You have depression. And you do ten times more work than I do, even though we’re both part of 3RACHA.” 

Chan rolled his eyes and stood back up, saying, “Fine, there’s no winning against you.” 

The remainder of practice was tricky, to say the least. Jisung had used all of the strength in his body to pull himself to his feet and put as much effort as possible into nailing the dance moves. His legs felt weak, though, and his heart was beating so fast, even when he stood still. It became a hassle to keep his head up, his neck trembling, along with his hands and knees. But he got through it—somehow. 

_ Why is the air so hot? _ he thought on the way out of the company building. He felt as if he was suffocating, despite the fact that it was only room temperature, and the sweat leaking from his pores didn’t want to stop. No wonder he was so dehydrated all the time. 

That evening, as all the members sat around, eating dinner, Jisung had trouble staying awake. He leaned back into the couch, feeling as though he were falling asleep with his eyes open. Sounds seemed different and he experienced auditory hallucinations, and all of his muscles felt so weak and relaxed. He was brought back to reality by a shove from one of the members, who he determined to be Changbin. 

“You okay, Jisungie?” he asked, chuckling. “You look kind of out of it.” 

“Yeah, hyung.” Jisung responded. “I’m just tired.” 

“You should finish eating first.” Chan said in the most fatherly voice Jisung had ever heard. “You didn’t eat much this morning.” 

Jisung hadn’t had an ounce of appetite since the funeral. He would wake up feeling dizzy and nauseous, and the thought of food would make his stomach churn for the remainder of the day. He looked down at his noodles, wondering how he would ever be able to get through it—or at least how he would be able to get out of it without Chan noticing. 

“Okay, hyung…” Jisung mumbled, taking an agonizing bite and forcing it down his throat. It was disgusting. Jisung never believed he would grow to hate food as much as he did then. 

When Jisung leaned back again, barely conscious, Minho butted in and said, “Come on, hyung. Just let him sleep.” 

“Alright.” Chan said. “Go to bed, Sungie. You better sleep more than a couple hours tonight. I’ll have Innie keep an eye on you.” 

“Yes, hyung.” 

Jisung said, throwing his noodles away and collapsing on his bed. He let his eyes close and felt the world grow fainter and his body lighter, until he heard something in his head. It sounded strangely familiar, and very faint. 

_ “Wake up, Jisung-ah.” _ Who was it? The voice was soft and high-pitched. It sounded soft and loving. It was his mother.  _ “Let’s go to the playground.”  _

The voice grew louder in his head until it wasn’t really a voice anymore. It sounded somewhat like a laugh. A loud, cackling laugh that caused him to jump. He looked around himself at the room, still illuminated. It had only been a half hour since he’d gone to bed, and he could see Hyunjin sitting on the bed across the room, playing on his phone. Jisung felt his heartbeat speed up again as panic filled his body. 

Why was he panicking? 

There was nothing to panic about. 

So why did it feel like his heart was going to burst its way out of his chest? 

Jisung rolled over, so that he was facing the wall, hoping it would help. Only, the wall was so blank. It was so lonely. It made his heart hurt even worse, so he turned back around, Hyunjin finally noticing his movement. 

“I thought you were asleep.” Hyunjin said. 

“I was.” Jisung mumbled. He needed to come up with some sort of excuse. Some sort of light-hearted excuse. “Maybe if you guys weren’t so damn loud I’d still be.” 

It took an hour for his heart to calm down enough to fall asleep again. Once again, the night was not so kind to Jisung. 

At three in the morning, he woke up shaking. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears and his head felt light. His roommates were fast asleep, their even breathing filling the dark room, but Jisung was terrified. He felt extremely hot, so he pulled his covers down on his body, only to feel the cool air hit his skin like a truck. He was drenched in sweat—so sweaty that there wasn’t a dry patch of skin on his body. His throat felt strange, in that unsettling way it had the morning after the funeral. The more he thought about it, the worse it got. 

He couldn’t stop thinking about it. 

Jisung sat up, the world spinning around him. He stood up, his knees trembling so violently that he tripped and fell onto the floor below. Why couldn’t he control his body? His muscles were all shaking and he had no strength left. Adrenaline pumped through his veins and settled in his stomach, making him feel nauseous. He wanted to cry or call out for someone to help him. He wanted someone to tell him what was wrong—why he felt so sick. Why he felt so out of control. 

“Jisungie? What’s wrong?” The voice was soft, yet nervous. It was Hyunjin. Jisung didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want anyone to know how he felt—he didn’t want to be forced into hiatus—but he needed someone to help him. He couldn’t deal with it all. He let out a quiet sob, tears spilling out of his eyes as he shook. He felt cold now, but he was still sweating buckets. He could feel the cool drops maneuver between the hairs on his head and stream down his back like chills. 

“S-sick…” he choked out, unable to control his gag reflex. It made his words weak and slurred. It interrupted him when he tried to speak. “I… think I’m… s-sick…” 

“You think you’re going to throw up?” 

“Y-yeah…” 

Hyunjin put his hands under Jisung’s arms and heaved him off the ground so that he was on his feet. 

“Since when have you been so light?” It seemed almost as though he were thinking out loud. 

Jisung grasped onto Hyunjin’s arm for balance as he tripped into the bathroom, bending over the toilet and retching. Hyunjin looked very alarmed and slightly unsettled. 

“What’s wrong?” asked Jeongin from the doorway, hair sticking in all directions. 

“I think Jisung’s sick.” Hyunjin said, quietly. 

“I’ll go get Chan-hyung.” 

Regardless of how many times Jisung gagged, he couldn’t throw up. Even when he felt traces of acid crawl up his esophagus, it would never come out. But he couldn’t stop heaving. His throat wouldn’t let him stop. 

“M-my… throat…” Jisung said, a large bead of cold sweat dripping from his forehead and into the toilet. 

“What about your throat?” Hyunjin looked as if he had no idea what to do. 

“Won’t… s-stop… g-g… gagging…” 

“Do you think it’s a virus, Jisungie?” 

“I… think… I-I’m… g-gonna die…” 

“You’re not gonna die, Jisungie.” 

After a few more seconds, Chan had stepped into the bathroom. Many of the others had drifted toward the scene of the commotion, as well, looking pale and mortified. Chan started to run his hand up and down Jisung’s back, comfortingly. 

“Did you throw up?” he asked, calmly. 

“N-no…” Jisung choked out, crying even harder. 

“He said his throat is making him gag.” Hyunjin said. “Do you think it’s some sort of virus, hyung?” 

Chan forced Jisung to lift his head and turn around slightly so that he was facing him. The leader then felt the younger boy’s cheeks and forehead and squeezed his hands, as if giving him some sort of physical examination. 

“I know what this is.” he said in almost a whisper. “Sungie, I need you to look at me. Look at my eyes.” 

Jisung lifted his eyes so that they met Chan’s, his throat still gagging behind his closed lips. 

“You’re having a panic attack. You’re not sick.” 

“B-but… s-sick…” Jisung pathetically mumbled, tears blurring his vision. 

“No, when you have a panic attack, sometimes the adrenaline can make you feel nauseous. It’s just adrenaline. You’re not really sick.” 

“Th-throat… And d-dizzy…” 

“You’re not sick. It’s just anxiety. I want you to breathe. Deep breaths.” 

Jisung couldn’t tell if he was breathing or not. He couldn’t feel air enter or exit his throat. His chest felt tight and his head felt heavy. 

“Here, let’s get out of the bathroom.” Chan said, standing up and pulling Jisung to his feet. 

Jisung felt so sick, but Chan was telling him he wasn’t. He tried to stay in the bathroom, afraid he would throw up, but Chan only steered him out, having him lay back down in his bed. 

“Let’s watch a YouTube video, Sungie.” Chan said, pulling his phone out of his pocket and opening the app. 

“Hyung…” Jisung sobbed, looking at the leader with pleading eyes. 

“How about another video from National Geographic? Don’t you like arctic foxes?” 

“I’m sick… Hyung…” 

Chan started playing the video, and while it was difficult for him to concentrate at first, Jisung eventually started to feel a little better. The panic and nausea started to grow more and more dull, until they only took up half of his brain. 

“Isn’t that one cute, Sungie?” Chan asked, keeping his tone light and gentle. 

After a few more minutes, Jisung felt only slightly nauseous and more drained. The dizziness had increased, but at least he wasn’t gagging. 

“Drink some water.” Minho said, unscrewing the lid to a water bottle and handing it to Jisung. He took a few sips, his gag reflex dying as the liquid fell down his throat. 

“Let’s put on some music. How about you try to go to sleep?” Chan said. 

Jisung didn’t respond, only lying on the bed while Chan started playing a playlist of Jisung’s favorite artists. 

“Close your eyes, Sungie.” 

Jisung closed his eyes, feeling the music flow through his body. But his heart was palpitating again. It was gentle and then rough. It was calming and then scary. Jisung started trembling again, but he felt someone’s hand stroke through his sweaty hair and he felt slightly more grounded. 

“Don’t leave… I’m scared…” Jisung choked out, fresh tears seeping out of his shut eyes. 

“We’re right here, buddy.” Minho said. 

It was comforting, being able to fall in and out of sleep for those first few minutes, panicked, only to see his friends there, looking at him, taking care of him. And when he finally did fall asleep, he didn’t even realize it. 

His dreams were fairly normal. When he dreamed, he almost expected to wake up feeling fine. He would dream about random absurdities—visiting a planet in another galaxy and meeting its inhabitants, or, on the best nights, watching JYP dance on stage wearing a silly outfit. When Jisung woke up the next morning, he was surprised to see that he had slept until seven o’clock. 

“How do you feel?” Felix asked once Jisung stepped out of the bedroom, causing the boy to jump in startlement. He was still feeling off, but he wasn’t going to cause his brothers any more stress by vocalizing it. 

“I feel a lot better. What’re you doing up?” 

“I couldn’t sleep.” Felix said. “We were all so worried about you. But I’m glad you’re feeling better.” 

Jisung felt guilt pierce his heart. He took a peek into one of the other bedrooms, noticing how exhausted Chan looked as he slept. He had bags under his eyes, which were closed so tightly that it almost looked as though he were trying to get in twice as much rest as he would have otherwise. He had caused his bandmates to lose sleep and worry. He had caused them stress, all because he couldn’t control his body. 

“Why don’t you sit down, Felix, and I’ll make breakfast this morning.” Jisung said. 

“You don’t have to, especially since you weren’t feeling well last night.” 

“No, I want to. As a thank you for, you know, the stuff you guys did for me last night. I appreciate it.” 

“You don’t need to thank us for that. That’s just what friends do for each other. It’s not like we would’ve let you deal with that alone.” 

“Really, I want to make breakfast. It’ll give me an opportunity to practice cooking.” 

“Okay, Sungie.” 

Felix was a bundle of kindness and sunshine—he was exactly what people pictured when they imagined the perfect friend. And Jisung had caused him to worry to the point of losing sleep. He had caused the sweet boy pain. Part of Jisung thought that he wasn’t worth the energy, but the other part of him feared for his life, knowing that the only way to feel okay again was to get help. 

But, now, Jisung needed to continue his routine or everything would shatter, so he pretended to be okay. Even if he felt nauseous at the sight and smell of food—even if he couldn’t eat more than a couple bites of the breakfast he had cooked for his friends. 

“You’re not practicing today, Jisung.” Chan said as everyone was changing into their workout attire. Jisung just looked at him. 

“I feel fine now.” he responded. 

“You weren’t feeling well last night, and I think you just need to rest. Try to get some sleep. We’ll be back in a few hours.” 

“But, hyung—” 

“No ‘buts’, Jisung. I’m not allowing you to practice today. End of story.” Chan’s tone was firm, almost harsh, causing the younger to sink. It wasn’t that he necessarily wanted to wear out his weak muscles and sweat all of his body fluids out in that hot practice room, but rather that he didn’t know if he would be okay staying there alone with nothing to occupy his mind. He could no longer watch movies or YouTube because they only reminded him of the calmness and health he didn’t have. Even vacuuming caused him to sweat and sometimes feel out of breath. The symptoms only seemed to get worse when he had nothing to do but dwell over them. 

But Jisung still sat there, watching the other members head out the door on their way to practice, dread building up in his chest. He really didn’t want to stay. He needed to get out and do something, somehow. 

_ Maybe I’ll go for a walk _ , he thought to himself, standing up, only to experience a disorienting headrush. When his vision cleared, he walked to the bathroom so that he could change. It was then when he truly began to realize how much weight he had lost. He was pale all over from the anxiety and lack of nutrition. His arms had lost some of their muscle and his legs looked almost skeletal. His stomach almost seemed to suck in without his effort. At least he still had his cheeks, which everyone considered to be his most recognizable feature. 

Jisung slipped his phone into his pocket and started to walk along the sidewalks. It was a fairly nice day, to his surprise, hints of blue sky showing through the white clouds and sun hitting his face. He felt better walking, thinking about where he would go, having control. Nobody was telling him what to do, nobody was expecting him to do anything, he wasn’t blindly waiting for his body to start feeling better. He was going where he wanted to go. Even if his calves grew sore by the end and he collapsed on the couch, completely drained when he returned home, it felt good. 

Maybe he just needed to try eating again, and his stomach would get used to it. He decided to choose something that would be gentle on his stomach, peeling a banana and taking a bite out of it. The second it touched his tongue, though, he began to have his doubts. He chewed and chewed, and when the time came for him to swallow, his throat completely rejected it, forcing him to spit it out. It was suddenly a chore to drink water. He couldn’t scroll through social media without feeling dizzy, and he couldn’t concentrate enough to work on lyrics. 

What was wrong with him? 

His heart kept palpitating, and he kept trembling. What was he anxious about? The other members would be back soon. He should have been grateful to be given a chance to rest. Why was he so anxious? 

And so his heart began to pound again, and the world began to spin. His stomach began to churn and he started to feel chills spread up and down his body. He couldn’t look at anything without feeling even more dread build up inside of him. Looking at the kitchen only reminded him that he couldn’t eat. Looking at the couch only reminded him that he couldn’t enjoy things anymore. Looking at his bedroom only reminded him of waking up in the night, panicked and sweaty. The only place that didn’t make him want to run away was the closet—so dark that he couldn’t see anything. He stepped in there and closed the door behind him, scrunching up into a ball. 

The world didn’t spin because he couldn’t see the world. 

There was nothing to remind him of how pathetic he was. 

But all Jisung could think about was the fact that he couldn’t call his mom. She would never again be able to comfort him again when he was sick. She would never again calm his fears. She would never again make him feel loved when everything was out of control. 

Jisung wanted his mom, but she would never come back. 

Cue the panic attack.


	3. "Insomnia"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for anxiety attacks, nausea, very brief (non-explicit) suicidal ideation, and dissociation.

It was midnight and Jisung was exhausted. His eyelids were drooping and his brain begged for sleep, but there was still a swarm of fear that overtook his body, telling him that if he slept, he would only wake up feeling worse. 

_ I don’t want to wake up sick. _

So Jisung stepped out of bed and began to walk around the dorm, feverishly trying to distract himself from his racing heart and upset stomach. He hadn’t been able to eat more than a couple bites of each meal (excluding breakfast because that hadn’t been possible since the funeral). The dorm got old after a few minutes, though, and Jisung began to feel trapped. He felt as though he were suffocating in his own home, so he left without telling anyone. He walked out the door and began to linger float the neighborhood, still in his pajamas, nothing but his phone on him. 

It was the first time Jisung had truly observed what the city was like at night. He wasn’t walking back from the studio, dead tired, eager to go to bed. He wasn’t going anywhere in particular. He was just walking. It was peaceful in its own way, and he found himself on a bridge at some point, looking down at the busy highway below and suddenly forgetting about the acrophobia that, even hours before, had the ability to paralyze him. He had no fears left. 

_ If I already feel so sick, maybe I’ll feel better if I just—  _

He shook his head, trying his best to ignore the thought before he even finished it. If Chan had seen him at that moment, he would have been horrified and disappointed, so Jisung walked away. He was already putting enough stress on the leader. 

Long story short, Jisung did not sleep that night. He walked around the dark city, alone, probably in danger of being kidnapped or photographed, and slipped his phone out of his pocket, searching anxiety solutions on the internet. Lots of them stressed exercise and distraction. Jisung decided it was about time he tried to build back some of the muscle he lost since his unexpected drop in weight. 

“How’re you going to have any energy to work out with us if you haven’t been eating?” Changbin asked as the members of 3RACHA stepped into the gym at noon. It was their day off. 

“I’ve been eating.” Jisung lied, trying to reassure the other member. “And, besides, I’m skinny as shit now. The fans are probably gonna notice if I don’t work out.” 

“How’d you even lose so much weight? You were eating so much before.” 

Jisung shrugged and said, “I guess it’s just my metabolism.” 

“Did you tell the doctor about that at your physical?” Chan asked, looking concerned. 

“Yeah, and she said it was probably just the busy schedule and, like, stress and stuff. It’s nothing to worry about.” 

“How much do you weigh?” Changbin asked. 

Jisung shrugged and lied, saying, “I wasn’t really paying attention. I think it was in the fifties.” 

Jisung made the horrible mistake of trying to lift a barbell. Both Chan and Changbin had done it, so Jisung decided he wouldn’t neglect his pride by sticking to bodyweight exercises and lighter weights. He had been able to lift a significant amount of weight not too long before (of course not anywhere as much as Chan and Changbin, but still a lot for him), so he decided to try it out. 

“Here, let’s start slow.” Changbin said, sliding a couple weights onto the bar as Jisung laid down on the bench. The younger rapper was already sweating all over, the air around him seeming almost thick with heat. It was difficult to breathe in such conditions. 

Changbin guided Jisung’s hands as he lifted the bar from its stand, holding it above his head and slowly lowering it down. It was very heavy, and he was very weak. He could feel his biceps shaking, and the joins in his elbows and shoulders seemed almost strained. How could he possibly be so out of shape? He spent hours dancing almost daily. He used muscles that normal people didn’t use. How was this so difficult? 

It all began to crumble when the sweat on Jisung’s palms grew more and more slippery as his hands trembled. He couldn’t hold his wrists straight, and his elbows were locked. Jisung didn’t want to acknowledge it, but he couldn’t hold it up anymore. His heart was beating so fast and he couldn’t keep a single muscle in his body steady. The bar slipped from his unsteady wrists, close to falling down and crushing his ribs. Luckily, a pair of strong arms shot forward, catching the bar awkwardly before it could cause Jisung any harm. 

“God, Jisung…” Changbin said, sounding exasperated. “That could have really hurt you!” 

“Sorry, hyung.” Jisung muttered, sitting up. His vision darkened when he got another headrush. “My hands were all sweaty.” 

“Okay, you’re done. No more weights. We can’t afford for you to get hurt, especially not so close to our comeback.” 

“What happened?” Chan asked, approaching the two of them. He had his sleeves rolled up to his shoulders, revealing his muscular arms, and Jisung couldn’t help but feel jealous. He felt so pathetic in their presence—like their little brother that they were forced to bring along. They had to babysit him to make sure he didn’t get hurt. 

“Jisung dropped the bar. If I hadn’t caught it in time, he’d probably have broken some ribs.” Changbin explained. “I told him no more weights today.” 

“Jisungie, that’s so dangerous.” Chan said. “Why don’t you go use one of the machines or something?” 

Jisung nodded, looking down at his shoes. He could no longer conceal his shaking hands and knees. His skin was so sweaty it shone in the fluorescent lights of the gym, and his hair was dripping. How hot even was it in there? It felt like a summer day in Los Angeles. He felt as if he’d just finished a full-length concert, even though he’d barely done anything. His calves twitched in pain and his thighs felt as if a few steps would cause them to give out. 

“Are you okay, Sungie?” Chan asked, waving his hand in front of Jisung’s face. The younger looked up, breaking from his haze of confusion and worry, and met the leader’s gaze. 

“Y-yeah, it’s just really hot in here.” Jisung said, wiping away a bead of sweat from his eyebrow before it dripped down into his eye. 

“How’re you sweating so much?” Changbin asked. “It’s not all that hot in here.” 

“Why don’t you go drink some water and cool down, Sungie.” Chan said, pointing to where their water bottles stood, near the wall. 

“You don’t have to baby me, hyung.” Jisung grumbled, keeping his voice so low and muffled that his words were almost inaudible. 

“And  _ you _ don’t have to talk back to your hyungs. Go rest for a little while. We’ll be done soon.” 

Jisung walked over to the water bottles, grabbing his, and walked back into the locker room, sitting down by their locker. He leaned back, feeling as though his body were both dead and hyperactive at the same time. He could feel all of his organs moving so quickly—his heart beating so quickly, but his muscles didn’t want to obey him. He couldn’t stop sweating, regardless of how much he fanned himself. The hot air felt like duct tape over his nose and mouth, blocking the flow of oxygen into his body. He felt so disgusting. 

He didn’t say a word on the way back to the dorms. He didn’t even look at the two older members, frustration and shame filling his heart. Jisung couldn’t walk nearly as fast as them, and every time he tried, he would feel lightheaded and out of breath. All of the blood had rushed to his fingers, causing them to feel hot and full of pressure. He was almost numb. Still sweating, feeling so hot. 

“Why don’t you go take a nap, Sungie?” Chan said once Jisung got out of the shower, thoroughly drained. His lack of sleep was definitely catching up to him. 

“I can’t, hyung.” Jisung argued, sounding almost like a whiny child. 

“Why not? You don’t have to work today, unless you want to join Changbinnie and I at the studio tonight. You have plenty of time to rest.” 

“No it’s just…” 

“What? What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing. Fine, I’ll go.” 

Jisung couldn’t stand the sight of his bed. The piece of furniture had quickly shifted from his favorite place in the dorm to his least favorite, the mere thought of it bringing him into a cold sweat. So, instead of sleeping on the bed, he took a risk and curled up on the couch, making certain he could hear the voices of Jeongin, Felix, and Hyunjin, who were playing a game on the Nintendo Switch. When he heard the voices, he was at least assured that he wasn’t alone. He was able to fall asleep quicker than he expected, though falling asleep had never been the tough part for him. 

“Hyung, wake up!  _ Wake up! _ ” 

Jisung felt warm hands on his shoulders, gently shaking him. He squinted, opening his eyes, slowly taking in his surroundings. Jeongin was hovered over him, a look of concern on his innocent face, and Felix was close behind him, eyes wide with concern. Jisung’s body came to life slowly, but surely, the nausea returning. He realized the clothes he had changed into after showering were now damp, and he was cold. He could barely feel his fingers and toes, which seemed so stiff they were about to break off. His heart was beating in loud palpitations, seeming to bounce off of every corner of his chest, bringing him discomfort. He felt panic build up in his jaw, causing his teeth to hurt. 

“W-what’s w-wrong, Innie?” Jisung asked through chattering teeth, unaware of how impaired his speech had become. 

“Are you okay, hyung?” Jeongin seemed to be on the verge of tears. His eyes looked so wide and frightened, causing Jisung to want to hug him and take all of his worry away. But he was worried, too. 

“Y-yeah, I’m o-okay. Don’t w-worry.” 

“You’re shivering. Are you cold?” Felix asked, gently. Everything about Felix was gentle. Everything about him was thoughtful. 

“N-not really…” Jisung said. “W-what h-happened?” 

“It looked like you were having a nightmare or something.” Felix said as he put his hand on his twin’s forehead to feel if he had a temperature. 

“Yeah, you were jerking around and muttering things. And you were gasping for breath, like you couldn’t breathe.” Jeongin added. 

“I’m o-okay. I g-guess it was just a nightmare.” 

“Are you sure? Maybe you should tell the manager about the stuff that’s been happening and he can take you to a doctor.” Felix suggested. 

“It’s f-fine. Really.” 

Jisung stood up, trying his best to hide his wobbliness, and walked back into the bathroom, assuming he might as well take his third shower of the day to at least wash the sweat off. He couldn’t tell if he felt hot or cold. The inside of his body felt warm, but his skin had goosebumps. His cheeks were flushed. Something unsettling fell over his stomach and he gagged several times, settling on the floor, bringing his knees to his chest, staring up at the white ceiling. He had to do something about this. It was hell. 

That was when he remembered the pills he had been prescribed after Woojin left the group—the quick-releasing anxiety medication he had been told would help control his nerves before fansigns. Jisung opened the medicine cabinet, pulling out the bottle and popping the lid off. It would be okay to take one now, right? He felt so anxious. He just needed some sort of relief. He swallowed the small, rectangular pill, and stepped into the shower, using all of his effort to keep from gagging again. 

* * * * *

Jisung went to the studio with Chan and Changbin. There was no way in hell he was going to be cooped up at the dorm, feeling desperate and alone. He needed to be productive. 

However, what began as an attempt at getting his mind off of the symptoms turned into Jisung sprawled on the couch, watching the two older 3RACHA members decide which sample went best with the tempo and mood of the song they were planning on bringing to life. Jisung had taken a large part in writing the lyrics, but that had been before all of the chaos started. Now, his brain was too foggy to concentrate, yet too wired to relax. 

“Do you like how this sounds, Jisung?” Chan called from across the studio, starting the track. It was slow and chill. It was the type of song Jisung generally enjoyed. However, this time, the beat seemed too loud. It hurt his head and made his heart twitch. It caused him physical pain, and he just wanted it to stop. 

“It sounds great, hyung.” he responded, frustrated at how weak his voice sounded. Whenever Jisung got out of the habit of speaking, it was almost as if his voice forgot how to work. He had to build it back up slowly, or else he would feel overwhelmed. 

“What, no criticism?” Changbin teased. “No calling us ‘wannabe producers’ and making whatever strange little alterations that crazy brain of yours comes up with?” 

“I think it sounds good as it is. I trust you.” 

“Do you think he’s sick, hyung?” Changbin looked at Chan with a spark of nervousness in his eyes. Changbin didn’t usually worry about Jisung. He usually trusted him to take care of himself. He rarely ever hugged the younger producer, even if he was upset. 

“I think he’s anxious and sleep-deprived.” Chan said, crossing his arms. “And not eating enough. And he’s not telling us the truth.” 

“I try to eat, hyung. It’s not like I’m trying to lose weight or anything.” Jisung said, frustratedly. 

“Why aren’t you eating, then?” 

“Because of my stomach. It feels sick every second of the day, except for when I’m practicing or producing. That’s why I can’t go on hiatus.” Jisung could feel anger build up in his system. It was a type of anger he hadn’t experienced in a long time—not since the arguments he had with Hyunjin before their debut. It was selfish, prideful, self-conscious anger. It was fearful anger. It was the type of anger you felt when the only control you had in the entire world was being able to snap at people and make them feel bad. Blaming them for your own worries. 

“I think for now you just need to sleep some more.” 

“Well, for your information, hyung, that’s not an option.” Jisung could no longer control his outburst. His fists were clenched and he felt like crying. “I can’t sleep for more than two hours without waking up and having panic attacks! I literally worry the whole fucking day about sleeping! So, no, hyung, I won’t be able to sleep it off like you think. My mom died. You think I can sleep that off?” 

Chan and Changbin were both speechless. If they hadn’t known each other for so long, Chan probably would have severely scolded the youngest for speaking so disrespectfully, but he wasn’t angry. The leader only stood up from his chair and walked toward Jisung, patting him on the shoulder. 

“I’m sorry if I sounded insensitive. It’ll get better, Sungie.” he said, softly. “You can’t rush it. Just give it some time.” 

Jisung stared off into space, still fuming. 

“Do you want Changbinnie to take you home?” 

Jisung shook his head, and Chan walked back over to his chair so that they could continue working. He just continued to stare at the wall, getting lost in his own thoughts, until something around him seemed to shift. It was as if the world had turned sideways, even though everything seemed pretty straight to him. Jisung blinked, noticing a fuzziness to his surroundings. His head was swimming and his neck felt weak. He looked around again, the lights suddenly too bright. 

What was happening? 

Was this a dream? 

Jisung rubbed his eyes over and over again with his fingers, wishing everything to go back to normal, but it wouldn’t. Was he awake? Was he even alive? The other members’ voices sounded muffled and muted, as though Jisung were underwater. They started to echo. It was all getting worse. Blurrier. Indescribable—almost shimmery, as if pixie dust was raining from the ceiling. He blinked in slow motion. He lifted his hand up in front of his face and moved it. Slow motion. 

Was anything real? 

Was Jisung dead? 

The muffled voices grew louder and louder in his head, morphing together into one big, painful, overwhelming noise. He started crying, blinking violently, shaking his limbs around, wishing for them to start working again. And a pair of hands were clasped onto his shoulders, pulling him into a sitting position. Someone had their arm behind Jisung’s back, holding him up. 

“-ung, what’s wrong?” 

“-ungie.” 

Jisung buried his head in the shoulder of whoever was holding him up, crying harder. It was terrifying. He was so alarmed. 

“Nothing’s real…” he whispered. “I’m not alive…” 

“You’re alive. It’s okay. I’m here.” The voice was startlingly clear all of a sudden—clearer than everything else around him. Jisung leaned into it. 

“I want to wake up…” 

“You’re awake, Sungie. I promise. Hyung’s here.” 

“I’ll die… I’ll never wake up…” 

“Look at me.” 

Suddenly, Jisung was looking straight at chan. He could make out most of the details on his face, aside from the slight fuzziness and sparks that outlined his head. Jisung reached his hand forward and poked Chan’s face, realizing that it was, in fact, real. It was very real. He poked it again, feeling flesh and bone. He touched Chan’s hair, feeling the curls, rough from constant bleaching, against his hand. 

The sparks were disappearing. The fuzziness was disappearing. The hollow, empty feeling in his chest was closing. 

Jisung was coming back to life. 

He blinked, and everything was in focus. The world was real again, and he was part of it. 

“Are you back?” Chan nearly whispered. Jisung nodded, burying his teary face in his friend’s hoodie. In any other situation he would have been humiliated to show so much vulnerability, but now he was too overwhelmed to care. He wanted somebody to take care of him, to keep him from dying. 

“What happened?” Changbin asked, his voice shaking slightly. 

“Everything shifted.” Jisung attempted to explain. “It was fuzzy and slow and the lights were too bright and all the sounds were muffled. And it was like I was dreaming. It wouldn’t go back to normal.” 

“I think he dissociated. It’s happened to me once or twice when I was in the studio really late at night, but it wasn’t this bad. It’s really hard to understand until it happens to you.” Chan said. 

“Does he need to go to a doctor?” Changbin sounded extremely worried at this point. 

“What could they do? It’s psychological. Unless you want to take him to a psychologist in the middle of the night, which I doubt any of them are working right now.” 

Chan patted Jisung’s back and said, “Come on, let’s stand up. You’ll feel better if you get up and walk around.” 

Jisung felt as if nothing would ever be okay again, though. 

He felt completely hopeless. 

He had gone insane. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've dissociated a few times before and it was the scariest thing ever. I hope I was able to express that in this chapter. Also, I apologize for my lack of knowledge on gym equipment. I've always been more of a run-outside kind of person lol. 
> 
> Have a great day! <3


	4. "STOP"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for panic attacks, vomit, suicidal thoughts, mentions of medication (nothing unhealthy, idk if this really needs to be a tw). 
> 
> I don't know what doctors offices are like in Korea, so I just based Jisung's visit off of my own experiences. I also don't know if the medications are legal in Korea, they were just medications I've tried before and may/may not have worked for me.

Jisung sat at the counter, staring forward at the dark kitchen. It was two in the morning and the members who weren’t out were all asleep. Even Chan had managed to drag himself back from the studio by midnight and pass out. As a matter of fact, the only member still out was Hyunjin, who had planned to hang out with Daehwi and some other friends. 

It was almost infuriating how sociable Hyunjin was. He had just about as many friends as Chan had, and he always found a way to drag his social gatherings out for several hours longer than he had announced. He was probably at the arcade or hanging out at someone else’s house at this point. Jisung felt lucky to have a couple friends outside of the group, let alone an entire army. Sometimes he would sit around and picture himself meeting new people without awkwardness—no stuttering, no stiffness, no depending on his bandmates to take the focus away from his shifting gaze and fidgeting. 

Maybe the frustration was caused by Jisung’s lack of sleep, or the fact that he spent all day every day fighting against Chan’s and his managers’ desire to put him on hiatus. The incident at the studio had seemed to make Jisung’s relationship with Changbin much different, as well. Every time the older looked at him, his eyes looked slightly paranoid, as if he expected the nineteen-year-old to collapse on the floor any minute in a heap of grief and insanity. He had even tried hugging him at one point, which ended very awkwardly. 

_ “You don’t have to hug me because you feel sorry for me, hyung.” _ Jisung had told him earlier that day.  _ “It doesn’t really work that way.” _

The only person who treated Jisung the same was Felix. Jisung suspected the Australian was trying to make up for the first year of their career, when he would scour over Korean textbooks late into the night, crying his eyes out when he just “couldn’t get” something, depending on Jisung’s friendly antics to feel remotely normal. 

The world would start spinning every few minutes. Jisung would be sitting there, enjoying the clarity of momentary sanity, until a feeling of cold, painful dread would rise in his body and send his vision out of whack. His head would swim in a way that felt relaxing for the first millisecond, quickly shattering into nausea and anxiety as it grew more powerful. His hands and feet seemed slightly numb all the time, as if he had rubber bands around his limbs, cutting the circulation. He wiggled his fingers and toes angrily, trying to get the feeling back, but all of his efforts were meaningless because he was fairly certain the entire thing was psychological. 

_ If it’s psychological, that must mean nothing’s really wrong with me.  _

_ But it also means that I feel sick and the only solution I have is to take a pill every six hours, whether that helps or not.  _

Every time the dizziness faded, Jisung would eye the refrigerator, feeling as though he may have the stomach to eat more than the ridiculously small portions of bland, easily digested food he had been forcing down his throat for the past few days. So he would stand up and open it, looking forward at the illuminated drawers and feeling his appetite quickly vanish, replacing itself with a queasiness that he wasn’t certain was really queasiness. Was it normal to feel nauseous in your heart? Probably not. Nevertheless, it wouldn’t go away, and it refused to share its home in Jisung’s body with food. 

When Jisung was starting to believe that the only way out was through secretly taking some of Chan’s insomnia medication and throwing himself on someone else’s bed, the front door opened. A black-haired, annoyingly handsome boy stepped into the dorm, sliding his shoes off as quietly as possible and shutting the door behind him. He looked up, most likely expecting to see an empty house (aside from the snores that filled the bedrooms), only to jump slightly at Jisung’s dark, solemn figure that now stood silently in the kitchen like a statue. 

“You scared me, Jisung. What are you doing up?” he whispered, lightheartedly, smiling through the mixture of tiredness and the extroverted high every member but Jisung somehow obtained after being smushed into overwhelming crowds, talking to people without a care in the world. Just seeing their expressions made Jisung feel left out, because he had never in his life felt that. It made him angry. 

“You’re late. You said you’d be back by one, and now it’s two-thirty.” Jisung said in a quiet tone, caring slightly less about his sleeping roommates than the other boy seemed to. 

“Yeah, Daehwi and I stopped at the skatepark on the way back.” 

Hyunjin didn’t seem to notice the fury building up within his friend, whose arms were now crossed. Despite the fact that the two boys had learned to love each other, viewing each other as brothers, Jisung found it easiest to hate Hyunjin. He wasn’t even sure why. Maybe their personalities were so similar that they clashed in certain situations. Maybe they were jealous of each other, Hyunjin being the visual and Jisung being the member well-known for being good at everything. It didn’t make much sense. 

They hadn’t seriously argued for a long time—not since they were still on the survival show, unsure if they would even make it to their debut. They would get into small disagreements here and there, and they would hurt each other's feelings every once in a while (only to apologize soon after), but they hadn’t gotten into the earth-shattering, petty arguments that brought each other to tears for a long time. 

But now Jisung  _ really _ wanted to start conflict. 

“The rest of us are working and here you are, losing track of time, being irresponsible.” Jisung muttered through gritted teeth, making fierce eye contact with the other member. 

“What’s your problem? It’s not like I’m going out every night.” 

Hyunjin pulled his phone out of his pocket, starting to text someone. When he smiled at the screen, Jisung lost it. 

“All you care about is your friends. All you ever want to do is flaunt your popularity.” 

Hyunjin looked up from his phone, a confused expression on his face, and said, “I think you need to go to bed, Jisung.” 

“You’re texting people all day! It’s like you’ve got this secret second life that the rest of us don’t have time for! Do you think Chan or Changbin or I have time to be texting people every second of the damn day? We have work to do! We have to write and produce songs for  _ you _ to perform!” 

“What’s wrong with you? Just chill. I’m sorry.” Hyunjin spoke sheepishly, as if he was stuck between feeling sorry for Jisung and getting frustrated. 

“I get it, Hyunjin. Everything comes easy to you because you’re handsome. That’s it. You think you have power over the whole fucking planet because you’ve got a perfect face!” 

“What the hell, Jisung? Why are you acting like this? Did Chan-hyung put you on hiatus or something? And why do you always take out all of your problems on me? It’s always me.” 

“It’s just so easy, Hyunjin, because of how irresponsible and self-centered you are.” 

“Fuck off, Jisung! Your mom died, I get it, but you don’t have to be so mean to me!” 

“You don’t have to be so careless!” 

“You’re just jealous of me! You’re just upset that you freeze up whenever you're around someone remotely unfamiliar! Stop being so immature!” Hyunjin was getting angry. They were both using loud voices at this point, and Jisung could hear faint unrest in the bedrooms. 

“I wasn’t the one messing around town until two in the morning and breaking promises! Chan has a lot of friends, too, but you don’t see him doing what you do!” 

“What do you do, Jisung? You don’t fucking eat, you never sleep, and then you snap at Chan for caring about you, but he doesn’t deserve that! You’re being selfish! Just take a hiatus and stop making this whole thing about yourself!” 

Jisung didn’t really know what was going on anymore. It was a blur of fury and uncontrollable stress. His knees gave out and he fell to the hard floor, unable to stop the tears that streamed from his eyes. All six of the remaining members emerged from their rooms to find the source of the commotion. All Jisung knew was that he wanted to hurt someone. He wanted to make someone feel really bad. And then he realized he was only crumpled on the floor, sobbing, as the other members stood around him, silently. 

Why was he so pathetic? 

Why wouldn’t anything go back to normal? 

Why did it feel so shitty to live? 

Jisung clenched his fists, continuing to cry like a toddler throwing a temper tantrum because he felt so alone. So weak. So incapable. Everything was so empty. Jisung wanted it all to stop. He wanted to stop feeling sick and stop having panic attacks. He wanted to be able to trust himself again. He wanted his dad to stop hating him and his brother to call him. He wanted his mom back. 

“Come on, Sungie. Breathe.” Minho whispered, rubbing the younger’s back. “It’ll be okay. Just breathe.” 

Jisung looked up with tear-blurred vision, catching a glimpse of Minho knelt beside him and Chan looking completely depleted. Jeongin looking mortified and Seungmin not even looking at him—looking at the floor. And Hyunjin…was crying. Hyunjin was  _ crying _ . 

And the vertigo hit him like a ton of bricks. The world was rotating in fast spirals he couldn’t keep up with. He couldn’t hold his head up or even sit in place. He squeezed his still very wet eyes shut in agony, begging out loud for everything to stop. Nausea spread throughout his stomach like boiling acid. His heart was beating so quickly and so loudly it drowned out all other noise. His jaw hurt and his head was throbbing like it never had before. His face went numb. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t even try to breathe. The air just wouldn’t come in. 

“Deep breaths, Sungie… In and out…” someone said. 

“You can do it.” someone else said. 

Jisung started to gag, feeling a bowl being pushed onto the floor beside where he was huddled as acid climbed up his esophagus and fell out of his mouth. He didn’t even know how many times he threw up. It just kept coming out until there was nothing left—no water, no bile. And even when there was nothing to throw up, he continued to gag. Even when he was lying on the floor, choking on air and sobbing for someone to help him or put him out of his misery, he would gag and gag and gag. 

“Open your eyes.” Chan said, and Jisung did as he was told, feeling slightly less dizzy than he had minutes before. 

“Dizzy…” Jisung choked out through quick, uneven breaths. 

“It’ll go away. I just talked on the phone with someone at the hospital and they said you’ll be okay. Just look at me and pay attention to your breathing.” 

It took what felt like ages for Jisung to slip back into reality. It was still bad, but it wasn’t as bad as it had been. He was no longer having the worst panic attack of his life. 

“Let’s go somewhere more comfortable. How does that sound?” Minho asked, gently. Jisung couldn’t respond, but he still felt two other members lift his almost dead weight off of the floor and practically carry him to the couch. 

“How about you go to the doctor tomorrow?” Chan asked. “So they can give you something that’ll make you feel better. I’ll go with you if you want.” 

Jisung was too physically and emotionally depleted to answer with as much as a nod or shake of his head. He just lied there, limply, on the couch, while Jeongin covered him in a blanket and Minho tried to get him to drink a few sips of water. 

Someone put a movie on, and they all crowded into the room, Jisung’s head now resting on Felix’s lap as he lingered between wakefulness and sleep. 

“Just close your eyes, Jisungie.” Minho said. “You look exhausted.” 

“If I sleep, then I’ll wake up and feel sick again…” Jisung croaked out, his voice barely functioning. 

“If that happens, you won’t be alone. We’ll be right here. You’ll be safe.” 

“I’m scared…” 

“Don’t be scared. Just close your eyes. You’re safe” 

The second Jisung allowed his eyes to shut, the world dissipated and his brain finally got the chance to rest for the first time in three days. And even if he woke up two hours later, sweating, hyperventilating, and gagging, he wasn’t alone. 

* * * * *

The next morning, Jisung was sitting in the waiting room at the clinic, waiting for the nurse to call him back. One one side of him sat a manager and on the other side of him sat Chan, who looked pretty worse for wear, considering the fact that he’d had to hold a bowl under Jisung’s head each time the younger woke up gagging the night before. 

“I’m not a child, I can go back there alone.” Jisung mumbled, exhaustedly. He was leaning his head on Chan’s shoulder so that he wouldn’t collapse entirely. 

“If you go back there alone, you’re going to skip over everything and make it sound less severe than it actually is.” Chan said. “I’m the one whose been noticing all the symptoms, day and night, so it only makes sense that I go back there to help you explain things.” 

Before Jisung could argue, a nurse stepped into the waiting room and called him back. Jisung stood up, sighing, as Chan walked through the hallway with him until they reached the scale. It was bad enough that Chan was going to be given the fine details of Jisung’s predicament, but he was also going to figure out that the younger producer had blatantly lied to him about his weight. Hesitantly, Jisung stepped onto the platform as his height and weight were recorded. 

“Forty-seven kilograms?” Chan hissed in a loud whisper. Jisung didn’t even respond—there was no justifying the number. 

“Your blood pressure is a little high.” said the nurse. “But that’s probably just due to nerves. And your heart rate is also pretty high. I’d say you just have a little case of white coat syndrome, which is okay. The doctor will be in when he’s ready.” 

Jisung was thankful to be seeing a different doctor than he had for his physical. The previous doctor had been adamant on him getting rest and would probably push for a hiatus. When the other doctor stepped into the room, Chan looked concerningly prepared. 

“So…” began the doctor as he flipped through the pages on his clipboard. “You’re here for anxiety, I believe?” 

“I guess so.” Jisung said, shrugging. “It’s gotten pretty bad in the past few weeks.” 

“In what ways? Have you been experiencing panic attacks, or is it just constant anxiety?” 

“Panic attacks. Well, and constant anxiety, I guess. I don’t know.” 

Chan immediately butted in, saying, “He had something bad happen in his family, and ever since, he hasn’t been the same. He can’t eat anymore and he throws up a lot. He’ll wake up in the middle of the night having panic attacks. He’s been losing weight, too, and he acts differently. He gets angry more easily. Oh, and I think he dissociated one time.” 

“I see… So, Jisung, you’re taking ten millograms of Buspar as needed? Is that all?” Jisung nodded. “Okay, I think it’s time to switch to a more long-term medication that will help you between panic attacks. It’ll probably take a while to start working, but it’s more practical and effective. I generally diagnose Zoloft to patients who haven’t tried a wide array of medications. It may not work for you, if it doesn’t, just come back in and we can switch it out for something else.” 

“Am I still taking the other medicine?” 

“Yes. Take the Zoloft once a day, I recommend in the morning, and take the Buspar one to three times per day as needed. Also, if you notice patterns in your anxiety, it’s good to schedule your days around them. So, for example, if you have anxiety in the mornings, maybe start waking up at the same time every day and going for a walk.” 

“I keep throwing up. Do you know why that is?” 

“Adrenaline slows digestion, and oftentimes people experience nausea and vomiting during anxiety attacks, as well as loss of appetite throughout the day. It’s normal, and it doesn’t mean there’s anything physically wrong with you. I suggest taking it easy, starting a healthy routine, and just waiting for the medication to make a difference. It’s also good to talk to people when you feel bad, because holding it all in is only going to make it worse. I suggest maybe seeing a therapist or talking to people you can trust.” 

Jisung left the clinic feeling just as discouraged as when he had entered it. Chan was already calling JYP and explaining the situation with him, and all Jisung wanted was to escape. Why did everything have to be so complicated? When would his mind sort itself out? 

Everything went downhill from there (at least in Jisung’s perspective). He had been called into JYP’s office and told that he would be put on hiatus whether he liked it or not because his health was at risk. Jisung said he had no family to return to, so he was allowed to continue living in the dorm. Chan and Changbin stopped allowing him to stay at the studio past 10 PM, and his roommates held the responsibility of making sure he was in bed by midnight. His meals were monitored, as well as the time and frequency he took his medications. And he didn’t feel any better. 

“You’re not helping me. You’re just wasting your time…” Jisung had grumbled at the breakfast table one morning, picking at his eggs. 

“We’re keeping you from collapsing. Maybe if you would take care of yourself, this wouldn’t be necessary.” Minho had shot back. 

It was depressing, sitting inside, watching the other members go through their days and knowing that he wouldn’t be able to join them. He even envied them when they trudged back into the dorm at night, sweating after hours of practice. The world started to seem so much smaller and bleaker, and life started to feel much less worth living. 

There had been one day when he couldn’t stop his nerves. He walked so much that he spent hours outside and almost passed out when he returned. The other members had tried to get him to eat, but he only refused, locking himself in the bathroom and crying. There was really no way out. He knew he should have been grateful to the other members for caring about him, but everything was just too much for him to handle. He felt so alone. The days morphed together into giant clumps of anxiety, alternating between panic attacks and the stressful time in between, worrying about when the next one would come. 

“Are you feeling any better?” Jeongin had asked after two weeks. 

“Yeah, sure.” Jisung had responded, staring at the wall. “I feel great.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took longer than the other ones. I had college orientation yesterday and I also had to babysit. 
> 
> Have a great day! <3


	5. "Side Effects"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for anxiety attacks, vomit, depressive thoughts, suicidal thoughts, accidental overdose, dissociation.

Jisung and Hyunjin didn’t make up. Hyunjin navigated around Jisung as though he were trying not to step on a land mine and Jisung was too tired and pissed off to try. They never spoke. As a matter of fact, the only thing telling Jisung that the other 00-liner didn’t hate his guts was the faint crying her heard in the middle of the night every once in a while, and that one morning when he woke up to see the other hovering over him, hand on his forehead as if checking for a temperature. Or maybe he thought he would be able to scan how screwed up Jisung was through the action. 

His relationships with all of the other members seemed to weather away during Jisung’s hiatus. He stopped opening up to anyone, in fear that his hiatus would only be prolonged, and he stopped showing his emotions, in fear that he would bring stress to Chan or anyone else. If he couldn’t work, the least he could do was avoid making his brothers feel as helpless as he did all the time. Maybe they would start to believe their efforts were working, and then they would feel better. 

“How are you feeling?” Chan had asked Jisung one morning before he and the others left for practice. Jisung looked down at his pajamas and compared himself with them, feeling guilt and disappointment eat at his heart. He thought of what Hyunjin had told him during their fight. 

_ “What do you do, Jisung? You don’t fucking eat, you never sleep, and then you snap at Chan for caring about you, but he doesn’t deserve that! You’re being selfish! Just take a hiatus and stop making this whole thing about yourself!” _

Jisung stuffed his shaking hands in his pockets and used all of his will power to suppress the gags that threatened to rise in his esophagus. He turned the corners of his mouth into the closest thing to a smile he could manage, and he opened his eyes wider. He tried to stand up straight, even if his stomach felt so gross and he felt so weak. 

“I’m feeling a lot better, hyung.” responded the youngest 3RACHA member, crossing his fingers in hopes that the leader would fall for it. 

“That’s great, Jisungie!” Chan said, and Jisung could see the exhaustion that dripped from the older’s determined face. He was so overworked, and it was all Jisung’s fault. He needed to make him feel even better. 

“The medicine’s really working.” he lied. “I bet I’ll be able to start working again soon.” 

When everyone left, Jisung heaved over the toilet, starting to cry. He couldn’t hurt without being a burden on somebody else, and he couldn’t stop hurting. His brother had texted him at one point, asking him what brought about the hiatus, and Jisung hadn’t responded. He figured that if Jihu refused to tell him the reason behind his father’s grudge against him, he had no obligation to explain his predicament to him. 

Jisung wanted to be vulnerable. He wanted to cry and scream to his heart’s content. He wanted to beg for help because he couldn’t handle it all on his own. But the world wasn’t on his side, and he would have to suffer in silence if he wanted to ensure more than a couple hours of sleep each night for Chan, or a night without crying for Hyunjin. He was so angry because he was so incapable. He was so angry because he was reaching for something he just couldn’t get a grip on—something that continued to slip out of his fingers over and over again and send him grasping again and again until his hands were sore. He was calling for someone who would never hear him, regardless of how loud he shouted. 

At one point, Jisung laid down on the floor of the bathroom while the other members were still out, tears streaming from the corners of his eyes and dripping into his hair. He felt so shitty. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, searching for someone to talk to—anyone. He saw the contact and nearly smashed his phone on the floor. 

_ Mom _

She wouldn’t answer, but he could still call. He almost pretended she could hear him, pretending the robot that told him the phone number he was trying to contact was no longer in use was her “hello”. 

_ “Hi, sweetheart!” _ she would have said. Jisung cried harder. 

“Help me, Mom…” he mumbled out loud, his voice cracking. “Come back and help me. I can’t do it anymore. I need you. I’m not strong. I’m an adult, but I’m not strong yet. I’m still a kid. Please help me, Mom…” 

Jisung wanted to punch his fist through the wall. He wanted to smash the toilet to pieces. He wanted to crack the mirrors and rip the door off its hinges. But he wasn’t strong enough. He was an adult, but he wasn’t strong enough. He was still a kid. So he only put his phone down and rolled over, burying his head in his arms, trying to get the last of his breakdown out before anyone else returned. 

“Jisung, what are you doing on the floor?” 

Jisung opened his eyes, unaware that he had fallen asleep there. He looked up to see Seungmin standing in the doorway. The slightly younger boy seemed to understand the situation when Jisung turned toward him, revealing the tear tracks that ran down his face. 

“I’m getting Chan-hyung.” he said, but Jisung quickly jumped to his knees and grabbed his arm. 

“Don’t. Please don’t, Seungmin. It wasn’t a panic attack. I was just upset. I was just thinking about my mom. But I feel better now. It’s okay.” 

Seungmin stopped walking, standing in place and looking down. He always looked down when Jisung was at his worst, seeming almost afraid of him. When Jisung had first met him, he’d thought him to be distant from the others, less willing to show his emotions or express his concerns. On rough nights before their debut, he would often be the only member unwilling to cry. He would wait until everyone else was gone, and sometimes Jisung would see him sitting alone in the kitchen, silent tears falling down his face. 

“I can’t do it on my own, Jisung…” Seungmin said in almost a whisper. 

“You don’t have to do anything, you can just—” 

“Of course I have to do something! You think I can just sit back and watch you suffer? What would  _ you _ do if you saw  _ me _ suffering like this? Would you just watch?” 

“Seungmin, it’s—” 

“He’s right, hyung.” Jisung noticed that Jeongin had joined the discussion. He had tears in his eyes. Jisung felt his heart crumble into dust. “I don’t want you to be sick. I don’t want you to be hurt. I want you to be happy.” 

“Innie, I’m trying. I’m doing what I can.” 

Jisung realized he was still kneeled on the floor, small in every way, shape, and form. Thinner than anyone else in the group, lower than them, weaker than them. He tried to pull himself to his feet, but he caught another glimpse of Jeongin’s teary face and he fell back down. Jeongin only kneeled down beside him and hugged him—something the maknae rarely ever did, especially to Jisung. 

“Why are you sweating so much, hyung?” Jeongin asked through tears. “It’s cold in here.” 

“I-I don’t know…” Jisung felt younger than Jeongin at that moment. “I g-guess I’m just weak…” 

“You’re not weak.” said Seungmin from off in the distance. He was always off in the distance. “You’re just hurting more than we are.” 

“What’s going on?” said Chan from off in the distance. 

Panicked, Jisung stood up and wiped his cheeks off with his hands. He brushed his clothes down and stepped out of the bathroom, doing his absolute best to look presentable. 

“Nothing. I was just gonna go to the convenient store. Does anyone want anything?” Jisung said, forcing cheerfulness into his unstable voice. 

Nobody said anything—not even Chan, who was uncharacteristically silent. No prodding, nothing. He just watched him leave, and even though Jisung knew that he wasn’t off the hook, he just had to get out. He just had to find a reason to breathe. He walked to the convenience store as quickly as possible, the chaos of the rainy night vanishing when he entered the artificially lit room. It was quiet. There were only one or two other customers. 

For a second he thought he’d be able to survive. 

Jisung strolled through the isles, looking at everything without processing anything. He didn’t know what exactly he was thinking about. He was thinking about a jumble of different things that seemed to morph together. There were shapes floating in his mind with straight edges and sharp points. There were splatters of ink everywhere. Things were ripped and frayed. But the shapes were still straight and sharp, surprisingly different from everything else that occupied his mind. He thought that closing his eyes would help, but the second his eyes shut, that was when everything shifted. 

The shapes exploded into balls of light. They knocked him off his feet and sent him tumbling to the tile floor below. His heart was exploding within his chest, knocking against his rib cage and sending cracks throughout his spine. It was trembling, almost. The shaking didn’t even feel like shaking. It was more like jerking, so powerful that he could no longer hold himself up in a sitting position and he let his head hit the floor. He clenched his chest, gasping for breath. The gagging started again. The panic. It was different. It was so different. 

“Are you okay?” asked a stranger. 

“Oh, my god! Is that Han from Stray Kids?” exclaimed someone from off in the distance. 

Jisung tried to speak, but the second he opened his mouth, he felt like he was going to choke. He coughed uncontrollably, feeling as though his lungs were turning to rock and his throat was closing. He felt light headed and the world spun. The lights were so bright that his head hurt. He was numb all over. 

“Someone call an ambulance or something! He might be having an allergic reaction!” said a stranger. 

Jisung’s hair hurt. His eyes hurt. He let out choked gasps, one hand on his chest and the other hand on his throat. Tears fell from his eyes. His head felt as if it was full of cotton. He was still gagging. His stomach was spinning around in circles and he could barely see anything. There was light and shadow and nothing else. No color, no movement, no life. Textures and patterns of light and shadow filled his mind. Shapes with straight edges and sharp points. Sharp textures. Straight light. Spinning around and around like a kaleidoscope, pulling vomit out of his stomach and forcing him to roll onto his side and spill his guts onto the floor. He coughed more as his vision refused to keep up with his movement. Everything was squashed and stretched. Everything mixed with each other and all he could feel was terror. 

“Breathe for me, okay? I’m going to count to eight and I want you to take a deep breath in.” said an EMT as they held an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose, pulling him into a sitting position. 

It took Jisung a long time before he realized he could breathe again. The EMT’s had checked to see if he showed signs of anaphylaxis, and they determined it was just a panic attack. By the time he built up the strength to walk, he reassured everyone that he was fine walking home on his own, though he couldn’t stop crying. The entire walk back, he cried like a child, unable to calm down. 

What if someone took photos? 

They’d be up online and everyone would know. 

He shouldn’t have gone to the convenient store. 

Jisung was able to slip by most of the members on his way in, hood over his head to hide the tears that streamed from his eyes. He stepped into his room, hoping it to be empty. He was not so lucky, though, finding himself face-to-face with Hyunjin. 

“What happened? Did you even buy anything?” Hyunjin asked as Jisung frustratedly shut the door. He felt anger build up in his system. Uncontrollable anger. 

“Just leave me alone, Hyunjin! Get off my ass!” Jisung spat, throwing himself on his bed and burying his face in the pillow. 

“Don’t you understand that we’re acting like this because we fucking care about you? You come in crying, what do you expect me to do? Just let you cry without even seeing what’s wrong?” 

“I hate you, Hyunjin! I wish I didn’t have to share a room with you!” 

“You  _ definitely _ hate me, Jisung.  _ Sure _ . What happened?” 

“Fuck off! Fuck off, fuck off, fuck off!” Jisung didn’t care who could hear him. Chan and Changbin were working at the studio, so it didn’t matter. 

“You have no idea how much we care about you, do you? You just keep letting yourself get worse and never reach out to us!” 

Jisung was so angry he could burst. He flung himself up from the bed and lunged at Hyunjin, sobbing as he tried to strike him in any way. He was weak, though, and underweight. He was drained after his panic attack and malnourished. Hyunjin wrapped his large hands around Jisung’s tiny wrists and pinned him to the wall with a harsh thump. Regardless of how much he kicked and squirmed, screaming for the other to let him go, it was no use. He wasn’t strong enough. 

He continued to protest, shouting and wailing, sobbing like a toddler, until all of the anger seeped out of him and he fell silent. He felt air enter and exit his lungs. He felt the tension of silence that pounded against his eardrums. Jisung looked up, eyes meeting Hyunjin’s, only to see that his bandmate wasn’t angry. He wasn’t even remotely frustrated. 

“Are you calm now, Sungie?” he said in a quiet voice. Jisung nodded, and when Hyunjin let go of him, he collapsed. “Don’t worry, I got you. I won’t let you fall.” 

And Jisung realized he was hugging Hyunjin. He was leaning on him like a crutch with his arms wrapped around him as though holding on for dear life. He squeezed clumps of Hyunjin’s t-shirt in his fists and soaked his shoulder in tears. A few seconds later, he was lying in Hyunjin’s bed, staring at the ceiling as the other laid next to him. He felt like a dead body. Had he cried out his soul? 

“What’s it like?” Hyunjin muttered, his voice muted. It made Jisung feel grounded. It made him feel less drugged. 

“What’s what like?” he responded, his voice hoarse after all the screaming and shouting. 

“Having anxiety? What does it feel like?” 

Jisung paused because he had never really thought about it. He allowed his explanation to flow out of him, saying, “It’s like… That time when we almost got in the car accident last year. You feel all shaky and you can feel it in your heart. Like everything we felt then. But just every day for no reason. And it’s like you’re afraid of spiders, but you have to spend all day with them and work with them. And people ask you why you’re afraid of spiders if you’re also a spider and you have no answer because you don’t know why. And you worry about it. And you feel sick all the time. And you feel trapped, like the only way to get out is to die.” 

Hyunjin was silent for a couple minutes before saying, “You’re not a spider, though. You’re a person.” 

Jisung felt more tears leave his eyes, a wave of guilt washing over him. 

“I’m sorry, Hyunjin.” he said. “I didn’t talk about it because I know how Chan-hyung is stressed out… And I hear you crying at night sometimes, and I know it’s because of me, and I wanted you to think I was getting better. I guess I’m a pretty shitty actor.” 

“I’m sorry, too. I understand why you lashed out on me. I wasn’t mad, I was just worried.” 

“It’s just frustrating. I want to be normal, but I can’t, and it’s bringing you guys down.” 

“That’s not your fault. And you’re not bringing us down. Sometimes people have to make tough choices and endure things to get better, and there’s nothing wrong with that. Things have been hard for you, I get it. The rest of us might be worrying about you, but we aren’t feeling what you’re feeling.” 

“Thanks for caring.” 

“That’s just the effect you have on people. You make them care. That’s your superpower, I guess.” 

They laughed a little bit, and then they both went silent. Jisung continued to stare at the ceiling until he heard Hyunjin’s breathing even out and he turned his head to the side to see him asleep. He caught a glimpse of his friend’s wrist and picked it up, laying his thumb over the inside of it and feeling the steady pulse. It had been a while since he felt something so normal. It was relaxing in a way listening to music or walking could never be because Hyunjin was  _ breathing _ . If Hyunjin was breathing, Jisung could, too. 

Jisung rested his head on Hyunjin’s chest, listening to the heartbeat and comparing it to his own. He wasn’t even panicking, but his was so much faster. Why was it so much faster? The heart palpitations were still there, and they never left. As Jisung succumbed to the pull of sleep, he wondered if there was anything more wrong with him than just anxiety. 

* * * * *

When Jisung woke up, it was noon. He was still lying in Hyunjin’s bed, only the room was empty and there was a note sitting beside him. He picked it up and read it. 

_ Hannie,  _

_ Went to practice, didn’t want to wake you. Take care of yourself while we’re gone.  _

_ -Hyunjin  _

Jisung tried to stand up, in some sort of haze of confusion until his knees gave out and it all came back. Why was it coming back? It was supposed to be better now. He had actually slept without waking up fifteen times. He had fallen asleep without feeling nauseous. He had gotten all of his sadness out and made up with Hyunjin. Why didn’t he feel better? 

It was like the first day after his mother’s funeral. And it was like the night at the studio. He threw up, and when he leaned against the bathroom wall, everything looked fuzzy in a terrifyingly familiar way. Sparks showed up again. The world wasn’t real. His body wasn’t his. 

_ Just take your medicine and you’ll feel better, _ said a voice in Jisung’s head. 

He stood up, barely able to balance, and grabbed his two medicine bottles, unscrewing the lids and watching the pills fall out into his lap. They weren’t real, so it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the fact that if he took them, all of this would go away. They would help, like the doctor said. 

He took one, but the world wasn’t real. 

He took another one, but it still wasn’t real. 

And so on, and before he knew it, he was throwing up again, pills coming out this time instead of bile. The world was turning sideways as he fell. Everything was turning black. 

When he opened his eyes again, he was still in the bathroom. There was a cloud of commotion surrounding him. Noise, movement. Crying, shouting, running. Someone was clinging to him. Jisung reached his hand up, feeling the person’s wet cheeks and coarse, curly hair. Their skin was soft and warm. It was comforting. 

“Mom…?” he whispered, trying to open his eyes wide enough to see the person’s face. 

“It’s okay, Sungie. You’re gonna be okay. Stay awake. Hyung’s here.” 

Everything went dark again, and the next time he opened his eyes, he was on the floor and there were people hovering over him, saying things to each other in quick phrases that bounced in and out of Jisung’s ears. There was something on his face. He was being lifted onto something flat and moved out of the bathroom. Everything went dark again. 

There were sirens when consciousness returned, and Jisung could hear the sound of crying. Someone crying so hard that they were coughing and letting out pitiful whimpers. Someone was holding his hand tightly. Jisung looked up, catching a blurry glimpse of Chan’s face before his eyes shut on their own. 

The next time he woke up, everything was real again. He could hear a beeping noise and the sound of machinery. He opened his eyes and saw that everything around him was white. He squinted at the unexpected brightness and noticed that there was an IV in his arm, pumping a clear liquid into his blood. 

“I see you’re awake, Jisung-ssi.” said a nurse. “How do you feel?” 

Jisung thought for a moment, unsure of how he felt. “Weird…” he responded. “What happened?” 

“You overdosed on your anxiety medications. We’ve got you on suicide watch for the next few hours just to make sure you’re safe.” 

Jisung felt very confused. 

“I wasn’t trying to kill myself.” he said. “The pills weren’t real.” 

“They were real. You’re lucky you survived. If your friends had waited any longer before calling an ambulance, you’d probably be dealing with some pretty bad damage to your liver.” 

Jisung just looked around the room, trying to decipher the nurse’s words. If the pills were real, why did he take so many of them? He knew medicine didn’t work that way, so why did he do it? 

“Your hyung has been waiting to see you all day.” 

“Which one?” Jisung asked. 

“Your biological brother.” said the nurse. Jisung paused, unsure of what to make of the situation. “Should I let him in?” 

After a few seconds of thought, Jisung said, “Sure.” 

Footsteps grew louder until Jisung was looking up at Jihu. His older brother had his hands stuffed in his pockets, and he had bags under his eyes. He looked at Jisung with a stone-cold expression. 

“I saw the pictures online, so I tried to check in on you, but you wouldn’t answer your phone. And then I found out you were here.” said Jihu. 

Jisung didn’t say anything, so his brother continued. 

“I’m sorry. I should have told you the truth about Dad, I was just… I didn’t want to hurt you. I’ve been trying to get him to come around, but he won’t. He’s too stubborn. He’s too stupid.” 

Jisung remained silent. 

“The truth is that Dad never made a connection with you and he feels like he’ll never be able to. He saw Mom as the only thing keeping the family together and he’s basically lost hope.” 

Jisung didn’t say anything, and they sat in silence for several minutes. He felt his eyes fill with tears, and he looked up at Jihu, who was also crying. 

“I miss her.” he said, quietly. 

“I do, too. But we can’t change what happened. All we can do now is take a deep breath and move on. And maybe we’ll be able to think about her someday without getting sad. We’ll think of all the happy memories.” 

Jihu slowly wrapped his hand around Jisung’s, and they didn’t say anything else. Even when Jisung’s hand got sweaty, Jihu didn’t seem to mind. They just sat there, and it was almost nice. It reminded Jisung of when they were kids, silently caring about each other because they were too stubborn to admit it. Like after the time Jisung had ran after Jihu and his friends, trying to catch up with them as they walked to the ice cream shop, and fell. Jihu had looked back and stopped, then carried Jisung to the ice cream shop and bought ice cream for him rather than himself. They didn’t say anything, but Jisung felt loved. 

“I’m having strange symptoms.” Jisung said to the doctor later that day. “I get hot really easily and I sweat a lot. And I get heart palpitations. I never used to have real panic attacks, and it started all of a sudden. It doesn’t feel natural. And I was losing weight before I lost my appetite. I was eating all the time, but I still kept losing weight and I didn’t know why because the other members ate less than me and weren’t losing weight.” 

“There’s a good chance it could be your thyroid.” said the doctor, briefly. 

“What? What does that mean?” 

“The symptoms you’re describing sound like symptoms of hyperthyroidism. Do you have a family history?” 

“Um… I don’t know. What’s gonna happen if there’s something wrong with my thyroid?” 

“You’ll most likely drink radioactive iodine, which will kill your thyroid, and then you’ll take a pill once a day. Easy as that. Your thyroid plays a large part in your body. It controls your metabolism, and when your metabolism speeds up, it can cause the heart palpitations you’ve been experiencing and the changes in anxiety levels. The blood work will tell us if you’ve got it or not.” 

When the other members stepped into Jisung’s hospital room that afternoon, Jisung felt a flush of comfort take over his body. 

“I’m so sorry, guys…” Jisung said, looking at all seven faces that surrounded him. “I wasn’t trying to kill myself, I promise. I just kinda dissociated and made a dumb decision. I guess I thought taking a million pills would make me feel better, I don’t know. It was stupid.” 

“It’s okay, Jisungie.” Chan said, ruffling the younger boy’s hair. “We’re all just glad you’re okay.” 

The bloodwork results came in, and Jisung was diagnosed with hyperthyroidism. It made a lot of sense, and he felt better to have an answer. Even in the time before he received treatment, he felt better. His brother texted him almost every day, updating him on his life, sharing photos of his dog and his girlfriend. Jisung’s relationship with his father might have been gone, but he was closer to his brother than he had ever been. 

He started seeing a therapist to deal with his anxiety. Things were definitely getting better. Instead of sitting back and watching his life crumble around him, he finally felt as though he were in control again. 

“There’s always bad days,” Chan had told Jisung one day. “But nothing bad lasts forever.” 

And Jisung believed him. 

He had bad days. He had panic attacks, and he had days where everything felt too hard. But those days ended with the setting sun, allowing room for new days to come. 

They always did eventually, and that was all Jisung could ask for. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if the ending seemed rushed or cheesy or anything... :/
> 
> I had a very similar experience to Jisung in this fic, which is mainly why I'm writing this. It's scary having really bad physical symptoms of anxiety and not knowing why, even if there's been a reason for stress to build up (for me it was the death of my grandma). If you have symptoms like this, I would definitely recommend seeing a doctor because it could have to do with your thyroid. Even if not, it's good to get treatment because you don't have to continue suffering. There's always a solution. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this fic! Thanks to everyone who supported this! I really appreciate it! 
> 
> Stay healthy and I hope you have a great day! <333

**Author's Note:**

> If you're here, thank you for reading this far! Make sure to give kudos and feedback if you liked it! <333


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